


It's Okay

by GulJeri



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Bi, Bisexual, Bisexuality, Friendship, M/M, Questioning Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 17:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4146033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GulJeri/pseuds/GulJeri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye finds Radar sulking by the trash barrels outside the mess. He gets the young man to open up to him and finds that Radar is struggling to accept his sexuality. Maybe some reassurance from someone Radar looks up to will help--and maybe a kiss wouldn't hurt either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Okay

Hawkeye was dragging his feet in the dust after another long run in the O.R. There had been so much blood that it had gotten into his boots and he could feel it squelching every time he took a step, and feel the blood caking and coagulating between his toes.

That wasn't what made his dinner unappealing—the mess was unappealing all on its own.

After poking the food around on his tray, Hawk realized that he needed to throw it away, rather than risk falling asleep on it and giving himself a concussion on the creamed peas.

So he had dragged himself out of the mess tent, and hovered near the trash barrel, and after deciding he was too tired to bother scraping the 'food' off of the tray, he simply dumped the tray and all into the trash.

But something moved in the shadows near the garbage cans, and suddenly Hawkeye was wide awake.

He was about to ask who was there, but then he caught the glint of low evening light off of round glasses, and he realized who it was.

“Radar,” Hawkeye said, moving towards the young man, “what are you doing out here, taking in the fragrant scent of garbage as the sun sets over the beautiful landmines of Korea?”

“No. I don't hafta come out here to do that, I can smell the trash from my tent if I wanna,” Radar said.

There was a distinct sadness to his voice, and a slump to his shoulders that was uncharacteristic.

“Well you don't belong out here with the garbage. You know what does? This war. Let's dump it,” Hawkeye punctuated the end of his sentence with a yawn.

“Gee, General MacArthur might get kinda mad if we throw away his war. One time, back in Ottumwa, I found a bag full of chicken feathers tucked in the cabinet under the sink. Well, I threw 'em out, on account of what's somebody gonna do with a bag of chicken feathers? Maybe a naked chicken would want 'em, but all of our chickens had their clothes on. Ma got real mad when she found out—chased me around the house with a wooden spoon, oh! I was little, that's back when she could still run if she got up the gumption. Boy, but she was mad.”

“She was mad about chicken feathers?” Hawkeye asked, “Radar... I think I missed something. What's the big deal about chicken feathers? Is that why you're hiding by the trash cans, because of your mothers' chicken feathers?”

“No, that was a long time ago, but I still think about it sometimes and get real scared of wooden spoons. Anyhow, she was mad 'cause she was saving up the feathers from every time she plucked a chicken for dinner, so she could re-stuff our pillows. I don't even like feather pillows!” 

Hawkeye scratched his head.

“Radar, does this story have a point?”

“Oh, yeah! That's why you don't throw out things that aren't yours even if it's a war that's not yours, but really it is yours 'cause you're the one away from home fightin' it, but it's not yours on account of you don't own it. You're just sorta borrowing it like you borrow the flu from the lady you sit next to in church Sundays. You can't throw away the flu even though General MacArthur gave it to you and you didn't want it in the first place. See?”

“Sure,” Hawkeye said, “I won't make any throw away comments about throwing away the war again. Scouts honor.”

“Hey, you were a Boy Scout? Me too!” Radar said.

Hawkeye couldn't help but smile. He'd never been a Boy Scout, and Radar didn't get the joke.

“You still haven't told me why you're out here sulking,” Hawkeye said.

“Gee, can't a guy sulk in peace if he wants to?” Radar pouted.

“A guy can do whatever he wants. I'm just not used to seeing my pal Radar this way,” Hawkeye said.

Radar's eyes widened slightly at the word 'pal'. Hawkeye knew that the younger man carried a torch of admiration for him, and he was using that to try and get him to open up. 

After several moments of quiet and fidgeting from Radar, the young man looked down at his boots and gave a small shrug.

“Y'know, it's just... kinda like the way I think about that wooden spoon sometimes, and get scared of 'em, I think about other stuff sometimes too. I think about Ottumwa, the calf that was born right before I left home, I think about food, and the last time the nurses hung their you-know-whats on the clotheslines to dry. I got a brain, I think of lots of things.”

“Cows, food, and ladies underwear,” Hawkeye said, “typical mid-western farm boy.”

Radar shifted uncomfortably.

“I've been thinkin' about that guy that came through here awhile back...” Radar continued.

Hawkeye waited for him to clarify—there were thousands of those guys and a thousand more to come unless somebody threw the war in the trash sometime soon.

“George,” Radar said.

George. It was a common name, there had probably been hundreds of 'Georges' on the operating table, but Hawkeye knew immediately who this 'George' was. Radar meant George the homosexual officer who had confided that he'd been beaten because some of the guys in his outfit had found out. Frank had gotten wind of it and tried his damnedest to get the guy dishonorably discharged, but like most of Franks' pursuits, it had failed.

“Y'know,” Radar said, when Hawkeye had gone quiet, “George.”

“Yeah, I know. Why do you think about George?” he asked, watching the young man in the shadows, watching his eyes, the tilt of his head, the shift of his feet.  
“Well, I dunno,” Radar said, “sometimes things just pop into my head, and they don't wanna pop back out again.”

“He was here a long time ago, Radar. Somethings going on here. Did it bother you that he was homosexual?” Hawkeye asked.

“'Course not, I don't care if somebody's homosexual, and I don't care if they're gay neither, but people in Ottumwa care!” Radar said.

Hawkeye knew he was onto something here, and he thought he might know what, but he needed Radar to do some more talking.

“Why does it matter what people in Ottumwa think? George wasn't from Iowa,” Hawkeye said.

“Well gee Hawkeye!” Radar was raising his voice, something that didn't happen often, “it just does, okay! Stop askin' me too many questions! Leave me and my trash cans alone!”

“Radar, there's no need to get upset,” Hawkeye lowered his voice, and touched Radar's elbow when the young man turned away, “it's alright. It's okay if you're--”

“Me? No way Jose! I've kissed girls! I like all kinds of girls! I even made out with a girl and touched her some too,” Radar paused, “not underneath her shirt or nothin'...”

“Alright, so you like girls,” Hawkeye began, but Radar interrupted again.

“I mean I don't remember it exactly, I drank too much grape Nehi on R&R to Seoul and forgot some stuff! But she was real nice and told me what happened, 'cause she remembered, so even though I don't remember it, I remember it 'cause she remembers it and told me,” Radar said.

“Radar,” Hawkeye said firmly, taking the young man by the shoulders, “listen—you can like girls and boys.”

Radar went very still and very quiet for several moments. When he spoke again his voice was a whisper.

“Don't you hafta pick one or the other?”

“No, Radar. Nobody picks where that's concerned. People can't control or change who they're attracted to.”

Radar was blushing very deeply. Even in the low light Hawk could see it.

“Jiminy Christmas, I didn't want anybody to know. What would people think about me? People back in Ottumwa... nobody back there is like this. What would my pets think about me? And Col. Blake? And... you... you don't like boys. You're always chasin' after nurses. I wish I could just be normal like you.”

Radar looked down to his feet, but Hawkeye tucked a finger beneath his chin, and tilted it up.

“Radar...” Hawkeye bent to kiss the shorter man in the shadows. He felt Radar stiffen in surprise, and pulled back a bit, leaving the barest amount of space between them. 

Radar's glasses were askew and Radar fumbled to fix them.

“You—you--you kissed me. Oh, ick!” Radar fussed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Ick? Radar, come on, I know better than that,” Hawkeye said, certain now that the flame Radar carried for him wasn't just for admiration.

“Well I... I've never... kissed another somebody like me before,” Radar said lowly.

Hawkeye kissed him again, and this time longer, waiting for the timid Radar to respond. He smiled against Radar's lips when he felt the younger man begin to kiss him back. On Radar's end it was clumsy, and hesitant, but Hawkeye was glad that it was anything at all.

When they broke the kiss this time, Hawkeye stayed close, his arms around Radar's waist. He could feel the way Radar was responding pressed up against his leg.

“Radar,” Hawkeye repeated, because Radar was still having trouble looking him in the eye, “look at me.”

Radar reluctantly looked at Hawkeye over the top of his glasses. 

“Hey I'm... new at this, okay?” Radar said quietly, “I don't wanna do nothin' else. Just... kissing... for now.”

Hawkeye smiled.

“I'm not pushing,” Hawkeye said, “I just wanted you know it's okay.”

Radar grinned sheepishly.

“Could you maybe kiss me again? I might need just a little more convincing.”

Hawkeye chuckled, and kissed him again.


End file.
